


Lost and Found

by SkycladFox



Series: Natural Tails [3]
Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Conversations, Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Intimacy, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 13:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkycladFox/pseuds/SkycladFox
Summary: A short while after the Ratigan Affair, Olivia goes to stay with Dawson and Basil while her father is working.  An unlikely visitor may just help the young mouse find something she barely even remembers losing.  Only available on AO3.





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> A very rare excursion into first person for me, but it seemed entirely appropriate for the subject.

I hadn't expected to see them again. I certainly hadn't expected that our reunion would prove to be very nearly as memorable and, indeed, life-changing as our first experiences together. I record the details of it now at the encouragement of Dr Dawson, who seems to believe I have a similar propensity for journals. I remain unconvinced!

It all began when my father, newly famous after what we all refer to as 'The Ratigan Affair', was approached by a wealthy customer with an elaborate order. Unfortunately, they proved to be more than a little uncomfortable around children, so, in lieu of any other options, whilst my father visited the client, I was sent to stay overnight with Basil and Dr Dawson in Baker Street.

I arrived late in the afternoon, bright-eyed and eager, carrying a sole, modest case, and wearing a brand new blouse, plaid shirt and bonnet, all in a cool shade of green, with a blue bow behind my left ear. Basil will deny it until he's blue in the face, but I _know_ I saw him smile, just for a fleeting second, when he set eyes on me.

Other than that, though, he by and large ignored me, instead fixating on a particularly elaborate experiment involving many chemicals with names I couldn't pronounce even now. Thankfully, Dr Dawson kept me entertained with a seemingly never-ending supply of stories, and Mrs Judson plied me with enough delectable edibles – cheese crumpets in particular – to satisfy even my voracious little appetite.

Eventually, though, my bedtime neared. As was routine, I had to take a bath before I turned in, and here I encountered the first, admittedly minor, surprise of the evening – there was no bathroom at 221½ Baker Street. Rather than the modern conveniences I'd expected in such an upmarket area of the City, I would instead be bathing exactly as I did at home, in a simple tin tub set wherever there was enough space.

After all we'd been through I trusted Basil, Dr Dawson and Mrs Judson very nearly as much as I did my father, so I didn't hesitate to do what I always did the moment the tub, towels and brushes were in place: pull off every last stitch of clothing then dance and shimmy on the spot to shake out as much of my tan fur as I could.

At the time, I didn't know the why of it, merely knew that I very much enjoyed being sans garments, and that bath-time gave me the perfect excuse to indulge myself. Father was always amused by it, and so was Dr Dawson this time, while Basil merely raised an eyebrow, half a wry smile tickling the corners of his mouth. Mrs Judson, in contrast, was at first quite doubtful and concerned, but thankfully came to accept it.

Since it would take a little while for the tub to be filled, I had to find a way of occupying myself. First, I ambled around the room for what had to be twentieth time, scanning the multitudinous memorabilia for any new additions. The tiki mask made me shudder a little, as always, and I could never resist spinning the big globe, then closing my eyes and dabbing a digit out to stop it; this time, my finger found a spot slightly to the west of Scotland, which made me giggle.

The sole new item I discovered was a full-length, free-standing mirror next to the small table that always carried a pitcher and cup. Since I'd not long had a moult I thought it an ideal chance to see if anything had changed, so set myself before it with legs apart and arms tidily folded behind my back, and regarded my nude form carefully.

It seemed that the licks of fur atop my head had grown a little longer, and my round cheek ruffs had filled out a touch more. I also believed the sweep of marginally paler fur that began on my collarbone, spread out to encompass the tiny salmon-pink points that were all that could be seen of my nipples, flowed all the way down my torso, and tapered in between my hips to cover my petite, mildly lopsided vulva, was now a shade more so. So, when I twisted myself to look as best I could, was the other, vaguely heart-shaped area across two-thirds of my rear. As I thought it all quite fetching, this pleased me, but I wasn't so pleased to see the, to me, rather unsightly curl of a birthmark still present on my right flank. Frowning a bit, I continued my memorabilia survey.

The little bell resting on the mantelpiece drew forth a whole range of emotions, and unfortunately, the less pleasant ones pretty soon found dominance, my shoulders and ears sinking slightly. A quiet clearing of the throat stirred me from my reverie, and my focus went to Basil, now reclining in his favourite chair, a typically obscure monograph in hand, and something not too far removed from sympathy on his face.

“Miss Flatterbatter,” he began, “I...”

He trailed off as I started giggling. “Flaversham!” I reminded him, for once not entirely minding.

“I fully understand your still being troubled by all that transpired,” he continued. “You endured a great deal.”

Nodding, I stepped towards him and stretched my hands out, hoping I could finally get him to grant me a genuine hug. He sighed, rolled his eyes in a manner I was tempted to term affectionate, then caught me under my arms and lifted me to sit on one of his thighs. Beaming now, I curled my limbs up in his lap and leaned against him, head resting on his chest, sighing contentedly.

There's no denying I had a fondness for Basil, what some might term an innocent little infatuation, and this was undoubtedly the reason my heart bounced on feeling one of his hands settling on my upper back, and the other lightly taking one of mine. As I stared beatifically up at him, he opened his mouth to speak, only for a sudden, erratic burst of urgent knocking to sound at the door.

Irritation and confusion flashed quite strongly across his face, then, as Mrs Judson moved to answer, he bundled me inside his robe so fast I barely had time to blink in surprise. Quivering with curiosity, I parted the fabric just enough, and just in time, to watch the landlady open the door, and loose a sharp gasp.

A beautiful white mouse stood outside, her fur rumpled, her minimal and striking blue garb – I'd later learn it was a burlesque outfit – dirty and ripped, half of the long, feather-like trail around her hips torn out, the collar broken so she had to hold the front of the garment up, the stringy remnants of a garter around her right thigh and a tattered bow perched atop her head.

“Miss Kitty!” Dr Dawson hastened over to her, fraught with worry.

Relief visibly washed through the new arrival, who stumbled forward on bare feet, past a disconcerted Mrs Judson – who nevertheless still had the presence of mind to close and lock the door – to practically fall into the stout Doctor. He held her as she shivered, and tears welled in her eyes but were blinked away, content to wait for her.

It didn't take long. After less than half a minute the white mouse was easing back, wiping her eyes dry, taking a long, settling breath, posture steadying and calming, arms resting at her sides. That the front of her outfit fell as a result, uncovering compact breasts as graceful in form as the rest of her, didn't seem to trouble her in the slightest.

“My apologies for making such a scene,” she told us, her voice strong, clear and with a hint of accent I couldn't begin to place, beyond it not being Scottish, “but it's been a trying couple of weeks, to say the least, and to finally see friendly faces is a relief beyond words.”

“Weeks?” Dr Dawson was horrified. “My dear lady, if all you've been through is in any way my fault...”

She shook her head, starting to smile. “Not at all. If it isn't too much of an imposition, could I beg the use of that bath, and a little food and drink? I'm afraid I've nothing to repay you with, but...”

“But nothing.” Dr Dawson was firm. “It would be greatly remiss of us not to offer all the assistance we can.”

“Agreed,” Basil concurred, with no hesitation, and I nodded firmly. I must confess I wasn't being entirely altruistic; Miss Kitty was striking a bewildering note of familiarity, triggering a memory that was no more than impressions and sensations, of whiteness, and warmth, and a soft scent I couldn't put a name to, and I wanted to know why.

That she, on finally registering my existence, reacted first with shock, then confusion of more than one shade, before quickly shaking it away, only deepened my curiosity. While Mrs Judson bustled off to fetch the refreshments, mumbling to herself, Dr Dawson escorted Miss Kitty to the tub; before he allowed her to get in, though, he politely but firmly insisted on examining her for injuries.

She acquiesced, shedding her garter, her bow and the remains of her outfit, and regarding the latter regretfully while the doctor checked her over in thorough, and thoroughly respectful fashion. “I spent so many hours making this,” she sighed.

“I don't believe it entirely beyond salvation,” Basil informed her.

“Indeed not,” Miss Kitty agreed. “But it still pains me to see it in such an unfortunate state.”

“I'd say much the same of its wearer.” Dr Dawson straightened up, his examination concluded. “You've a number of minor cuts and bruises, and a lightly twisted ankle, but nothing more. Rest the latter for a few days and you ought to be fine.” His expression turned serious. “Now, if I may be indelicate for a brief moment...”

He left the sentence hanging. Young as I was, I had an inkling of what was being left unsaid, and it made me shiver. The white mouse picked it up easily, shaking her head. “No-one's touched me. Not like that.”

Dr Dawson's relief was palpable. “Good. Very good. I'll detain you no further. Please, wash yourself, and tell us how you came to be here.”

Miss Kitty gracefully entered the tub, sank into the water with a softly satisfied sigh, then set to rubbing the grime from her lush fur. “You're correct, doctor, in thinking it was the night you joined the twins and I on stage that things took a poor turn for me, but I must reiterate, none of it was your fault.

“Fights, you see, are an almost nightly occurrence at that pub. Mostly small scuffles, true, but bigger ones are far from unknown. Usually we wait them out in the safety of our, firmly secured, little dressing room back-stage, until the threat of Ratigan's wrath returns things to some semblance of order. That particular evening, however...”

“Ratigan fell,” Basil stated, simply. I shivered again, and pressed a bit closer to him.

“Exactly. It took a long time for that fight to die down, and just when it was beginning to, the news came through. The landlord, suddenly bereft of his usual trump card, quite literally turned tail and fled.” She paused a moment, quelling the flash of anger that had tinged her last few words, and hardened her eyes.

“The twins and I had an escape plan for just such a situation: using a window in our dressing room to get out of the pub, hopefully unseen, then hastening to the nearest street where we knew we could catch a hansom. We 'd listen for one going in the direction we wanted, board it, and be safe and free.

“Unfortunately, possibly thanks to our haste, we hadn't gotten away from the pub unseen. A trio of roughs spotted us and gave chase. Not wanting the twins, whom I'd grown very fond of, to suffer, I split from them and did my best to draw the pursuit with me. Thankfully, they all followed, so I'm hopeful the twins escaped.

“It took me quite some time, more than one physical altercation, and a little luck, to shake the roughs off. I then sought out a few people I thought would help me, but they'd either vanished, or wanted nothing to do with me any more. In desperation I thought of the mouse who danced with us on stage.”

Brows raising, I looked to Dr Dawson, whose ears were flushed.

“Not a moment I particularly care to dwell on,” he muttered. “Though I must admit to some curiosity – why didn't you bar me from the stage like every other mouse who tried to get up there?”

Miss Kitty's smile held genuine warmth. “Because, even when addled by whatever it was the landlord put into your drink, and with plenty of opportunity to take advantage, you were nothing but respectful to us.”

“It's the very soul of the mouse,” Basil averred, in a tone of voice that sounded dangerously close to fond.

Dr Dawson's ears turned redder. “Can we _please_ move on?”

Miss Kitty chuckled and obliged. “After a week or so of sleeping under bridges and in corners of alleys, I found a scrap of newspaper. It wasn't much more than a picture, but I recognised the pair of heroes among mice depicted in it and decided to seek them out. I didn't know what to do if they were to turn me away, but...” She stood up in the tub, now spotless fur plastered to her lithely attractive frame, and smiled. “I had a feeling they wouldn't.”

I could feel Basil's chest swell, and had to bite back a laugh at the look of self-satisfaction on his face as he replied. “Never let it be said that Basil of Baker Street ignored those in need.”

Naturally, I couldn't let that go unchallenged. I dug an elbow into his rib and gave him the most reproachful look I could muster. The way he deflated as a result, shame tempering his expression, was hard not to take satisfaction from. Dr Dawson certainly seemed amused, and Mrs Judson, delivering a tray loaded with fresh cheese crumpets, a cup and a pitcher of water, gave a little chuckle, even as she studiously ignored the naked mouse stepping from the tub.

Mischief shone in Miss Kitty's eyes as she collected a towel and began to dry herself. “Cold to the pleas of a helpless child?” she teased Basil, tipping me a wink. “I thought so much better of you.”

The great detective shifted uncomfortably. “I was...not exactly in the best frame of mind at the time.”

“Indeed not,” Dr Dawson concurred, “but I'd say you made up for it in the long run.”

I nodded agreement, and dabbed a kiss on the underside of his jaw.

Miss Kitty's eyes lighted on me again, and I couldn't help averting my own a little. “Might I enquire how?”

Since I found her very nearly as beguiling as Basil speech was beyond me; thankfully, the mouse himself stepped in.

“Dr Dawson and I helped find her father,” he explained. “Speaking of family, I'm sure you'd want to contact your own?”

“My sister,” came the immediate response. “Seven years without her is far, far too long.”

“Seven years?” Dr Dawson's horror returned tenfold. “You were stuck down there for _seven years_?”

Miss Kitty gave a short, dark chuckle. “When Ratigan gets his claws in you, they _stay_ in.” She sighed, exchanging the towel for a brush. “And all because I wanted to use my dancing skills to help Mary and Hiram set up their business, and look after their wonderful baby girl.”

I'm pretty sure I forgot how to breathe for several seconds, while my disbelieving eyes locked on the white mouse and that nagging sense of familiarity became a whole lot keener. I _knew_ her.

Basil reacted almost as strongly. “Miss Kitty...”

“Cat,” she insisted. “Miss Kitty's only a stage moniker. My real name is Catherine Adler, but those close to me just call me Cat.”

“Cat,” Basil continued, “would Mary and Hiram's business happen to have been the manufacture and sale of toys...?”

The brush clattered to the floor, and the white mouse's widened eyes fixed on Basil. “Yes.” Then they fixed on me, and began to water, as I'm sure mine were by this point. “Then you're...”

“Miss Flangehammer,” Basil prompted. “Would you care to introduce yourself...?”

Trembling, I slipped from his robe, took two steps forward, and stood before the white mouse. “Flaversham. Olivia Flaversham.”

Barely had the last syllable left my mouth than I was being clasped in a tight, tearful, ecstatic hug to rival any I'd shared with my father. For a long moment all I knew was whiteness, and warmth, and a soft scent I couldn't put a name to. Kisses were peppered across my face, kisses I did my best to return, then her hands gripped my waist and eased me back, and she took a good, long look at me.

“Oh, how you've grown!” Her smile was beatific. “The last time I saw you, you were a fluffy little scrap still supping from Mary's breast.” She laughed. “And you've inherited our disdain for clothing, I see! Oh, how proud she must be of you!”

A lump formed in my throat; I forced words past it. “M-mummy...isn't here any more...Aunt Cat.”

The white mouse choked, shaking her head, more tears flowing. Now I was hugging her, nuzzling her, trying to comfort her. When she finally pushed me gently back, it was to stare at me through red-rimmed but determined eyes.

“She's not gone,” Aunt Cat averred. “Mary's standing right in front of me, and I'll keep loving her with every fibre of my being.” She nudged my nose with hers. “If you want me to, of course.”

Well, there was only one answer I could give to that. “Of course!”

She laughed again, kissed me between the eyes, then drew me down against her. I nestled in, head pillowed on one of her breasts, and was hit by that scent again. I had to ask. “What's that smell?”

“Lilacs,” Aunt Cat replied, stroking my flank. “My favourite scent. You like it?”

“I love it.” I closed my eyes, and almost drifted off to sleep, if not for a conversation starting up between my Aunt, Basil and Dr Dawson.

“I'm assuming you're looking after Olivia while Hiram's away?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered. “He's due back tomorrow afternoon.”

“If you've no objections to sharing Olivia's cot, or availing yourself of a chair,” Basil offered, “you're welcome to stay the night. We might even be able to provide you with clothes. I've had occasion to masquerade as a member of the opposite sex on three cases now.”

“I'd like to have seen that.” Mirth ran through Aunt Cat's voice.

“I'm not sure I would.” Dr Dawson gave an audible shudder. “On that subject, though, I do hope you manage to repair that show outfit.”

“I'll do my best,” Aunt Cat assured him. “I might even, if she shows an interest in dancing, make one for Olivia.”

I imagined myself in one, and found the image not unappealing. The thought of Basil in one made me snort with giggles. A hand smoothed the fur between my ears, and I settled again. The last thought to pass through my head before sleep claimed me fully was of the dancing doll Father had given me as a birthday present, right before everything had changed. I'd lost it, but now, it dawned on me, I'd gained the real-life inspiration for it, and I couldn't be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in a follow-up, let me know in the comments. I do have a few inklings of ideas...


End file.
